by Desiree Holt
How could he just go back to work as if holes hadn’t been blown in his carefully ordered life? In a sudden fury, he slammed his fist against the wall, the drywall shattering at his touch.
“Get that fixed,” he ordered. “I’ll be in my den for a while. Don’t disturb me.”
“Yes, Mr. Willoughby.” She dumped the ice pack in the sink and headed for the stairs.
Hours passed as he sat in his den, sipping slowly on the A. A. Hirsch Reserve bourbon he favored. As the liquor burned a continual trail down his throat, his tension only increased instead of easing. He’d called his office and told them to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day. His mind was too busy trying to comprehend Fallon’s disappearance.
How in the world had she managed it? She should have been too consumed with pain to even think, let alone hatch and execute an escape plan. And where could she have gone? Brian guessed not far, considering the shape she was in, not to mention her nakedness. Would someone pick up a naked woman? Maybe they’d take her to a hospital.
Fuck, that was all he needed. Finding her and trying to explain her condition.
He opened his computer and searched for local hospitals. Then, for the better part of two hours, he argued with idiots in every facility he could reach within a fifty-mile radius, but no one would give him answers to his questions.
“If you’d like to come in, sir, and give us more information, perhaps we can help you.”
No, he goddamn did not want to show up and put himself in a position to be questioned about Fallon Crowe.
Brian sat in the den, brooding away the last cold hours of daylight. Mrs. Hudson knocked timidly at one point, and asked if he wanted anything to eat. He told her to stay the hell away from him for the rest of the night.
He couldn’t let this throw him off balance. He’d never let anything do that, especially no woman, and he wasn’t about to start now. He had to focus on the problem and what to do about it.
Assuming Fallon wasn’t in a hospital, Brian was sure he knew where she was now. With that same bitch friend Claire who’d previously interfered with Fallon’s training, and at a very critical point. He’d had her so obedient that when he took her out in public, she’d sat at his feet while he talked to other people. It was the ultimate signal to everyone that control was always his and no one should ever think about crossing him. Also, that Fallon was his possession, wearing an invisible Hands Off sign.
Perhaps last night he’d let his anger get the best of him. But shit! He’d been waiting for more than a year to teach her a lesson! It had never crossed his mind she’d have the guts or the strength to get away. How had she even been so lucid? Obviously she hadn’t taken the pills the housekeeper had given her.
Fuck!
Finally, as the shadows through the windows lengthened, he pulled himself together. A plan. That was what he needed. He was very good at making plans. At strategizing. That was how he’d gotten where he was.
It occurred to him that maybe he was going about this all wrong. Last time he’d been uncharacteristically like a bull in a china shop, pounding on Claire’s door and demanding she return his property. He’d lost his dignity along with his self-control.
This time would be different. When you wanted something from someone, you went after that which was most important to them. For Fallon, that was Cord Jamieson. For Jamieson, that was his precious ranch.
All Brian needed to do was find a weakness there and he’d have it made. Obliterating Jamieson should be a walk in the park.
He’d teach Fallon Crowe a lesson she would long remember.
Finally, a plan to follow. He scrolled through the contact list on his phone until he found what he wanted, and dialed the number.
Chapter 14
The last thing Cord wanted to do today was drive into San Antonio to have lunch with Jack Torres. He’d barely left the ranch since Fallon’s departure and what he liked to think of as her escape from Willoughby. He worked himself hard each day, hoping the sweaty manual labor would dull his mind so he could stop thinking about Fallon as he’d last seen her. And as he knew she was now. Nearly broken, but still with the strength to finally break free of the bastard.
Claire had called him regularly during the past week with reports, for which he was extremely grateful. He hungered for every scrap of information, every word on Fallon’s progress. He knew Jack had gone to the house to meet with her and how painful it had been for her, because Claire had called him afterward. The police report was finally taken care of but Claire was still after her to file charges against Willoughby.
“She’s not quite there yet,” Claire told him. “First she has to accept the fact that her personal history with her family made her a perfect target. Then she needs to reconcile her sexual desires with the bad choices she made, and move forward.”
“And when will that happen?” He lived in a constant state of frustration, wanting to be with the woman he loved but knowing this was going to take time. Probably a lot of time.
“I’ll keep you in the loop,” was all Claire could say.
Now Jack apparently had more bad news to give Cord. They sat in an exclusive club open only to members of the Sons of the Republic of Texas. Chapter meetings were held there, and the facility provided a place for members to conduct important business out of the eye of the mainstream. There wasn’t another place in the area more exclusive or protected.
“So what’s going on?” Cord asked after the polite pleasantries were out of the way. “I’m not much in the mood for socializing these days.”
“This isn’t exactly socializing,” the attorney told him. “But this is the most private place I could think of to discuss this. Members don’t eavesdrop or rat on other members.”
Cord frowned. “This doesn’t sound good.”
Jack shook his head. “It isn’t. Or at least, it wasn’t.” He put down his drink and studied Cord. “You’ve made a very powerful enemy, my friend. One who can crush countries if he’s in the mood.”
“You mean Willoughby? What the fuck did I do to him?”
“As far as he’s concerned, you’d stolen something from him. And somehow caused him to lose it again.”
Cord’s fists tightened involuntarily. “If by something you mean Fallon, she’s not a possession.”
“She is as far as Willoughby is concerned. If the president of your bank hadn’t been an SRT member, which trumps the politics of banking, you and Comanche Pass Ranch would be parting ways.”
“The fuck you say?”
Jack shrugged. “The way Willoughby looks at it, you deprived him of something that was his. He takes something of yours in return. He told Leland he wanted the bank to pull its financing on Comanche Pass or he’d yank all his business.”
“Fuck.” Every muscle in Cord’s body tightened. “Can he even do that?”
Jack shrugged. “You haven’t tapped into much of your credit yet. Most of the money for the ranch has come from your pocket so far, which is the good thing. But Leland Grange could always tell you the board changed its mind, that they no longer consider you a good risk. Which would put you in the position of having to immediately pay off the little you’ve borrowed so far.”
“But it didn’t happen.”
“That’s right. Because, at least in the state of Texas, the SRT is more formidable than Willoughby International. We have influence and authority in places that his money and power can’t affect. If he pisses us off, we can do more damage to him than he can to us. And we made sure Grange knew he’d be losing a lot more than Willoughby’s accounts if he went through with this. He doesn’t want to lose the nice list of oil companies and conglomerates that keep his bottom line so healthy.”
“But… I’m not a member of the SRT,” Cord pointed out.
Jack smiled at him. “You’re my personal friend. Almost as good.”
“After what he did to Fallon, Willoughby’s lucky I don’t take him apart piece by piece.” Cord knocked back another sw
allow of the excellent whiskey in front of him. “How is she, Jack? I know you saw her.”
The sympathy in the other man’s eyes was almost more than he could stand.
“She’s coping,” Jack said. “A lot better than we might expect. And yes, physically, she’s healing. Claire’s taking very good care of her.”
“I’m such a fucking idiot. I should have dug deeper into her relationship with that bastard. Recognized what the reality of it was. It’s not as if I’ve never seen it happen before. Maybe I could have—”
“Done nothing,” Jack pointed out. “This was something Fallon had to do herself. She had to come to the realization on her own or the connection, the draw, would always be there. She did a very stupid thing going back to him, but a courageous thing getting out of there and seeking help. Now she’s working to heal.”
Cord gritted his teeth. “Can you convince her to press charges against Willoughby? The next woman might not be as lucky or as desperate as Fallon was.”
“We haven’t yet. Just answering questions for the report regarding the day she was found was tough enough on her. But,” he went on as Cord started to say something, “the San Antonio BDSM community is waging its own campaign against him. Much more stringently than we did before, and probably what we should have done to begin with. We’re also passing along warnings about drugs. Claire is sure Willoughby fed drugs to Fallon but she could never prove it. And Fallon told her about flushing some pills before she’d escaped. I can easily believe he would drug women, so we’re trying to make sure any who spend time with him know the chances they’re taking.”
Cord lifted an eyebrow. “You can do that? Without him deciding to sue you for slander?”
“There are a lot of extremely wealthy and powerful people in the lifestyle, in case that somehow escaped your keen observation.”
Cord leaned back in his chair. “I know there are in Dallas. I guess I just never thought about it after moving here.”
“Listen, my friend. We have contacts all over the country. One private club to another. One group to another. Even overseas. Several of us locals met after what happened with Fallon and decided it was time to take action. Something we should have done a very long time ago.”
Cord studied his friend a moment. “What made you decide to do this now?”
“Let’s just say things hit too close to home for comfort. It was past time to take care of business. Willoughby International might find itself having unexpected problems as time progresses.”
“As long as he doesn’t try to get to Fallon again. And by the way, thanks for saving my bacon.”
“This time it was a pleasure.”
Silence dropped over the table as the waiter delivered food and fresh drinks.
“Do you think she’s going to come out of this?” Cord asked at last.
“I’d say there’s a damn good chance. A lot will depend on her, of course.”
Cord bit down on his frustration. “I just want to let her know… To tell her—”
“She knows.” He gave Cord a reassuring smile. “This is going to be a long journey for her, my friend. She’s feeling guilty about a lot of things and she has to deal with that. And she has some things in her past she needs to confront, also. But she’s working on it.”
“I hope she’s getting professional help.”
Jack nodded. “I sent her to one of the best. He’s a Dom himself and he’s been a great therapist for our community.”
“So I guess Claire’s right, there’s nothing I can do except wait. But let me tell you, it’s damn hard.”
“I know. But Claire has promised to continue giving you daily updates. And if you love Fallon, it will be worth it in the end.”
Cord nodded, certain there was no one he’d ever love more.
Fallon leaned back in the big chair and smiled at the man sitting across from her. She’d told Claire she would have preferred a woman for a therapist, but Jack Torres had highly recommended Ted Widener and she’d been so right to listen to him. At the very first session, he made her feel so comfortable and at ease that she was able to relax and talk to him.
If only I’d been smart enough to do this the first time.
Stop. No more crying over spilled milk.
After two months of seeing Ted three times a week, she was finally able to face some unpleasant truths, confront some of her demons, and deal with them.
Two months, she thought to herself, without seeing Cord. Without really seeing anyone except Claire. Living in fear of Brian’s appearance, then being puzzled when it didn’t happen. Two months of picking apart her life and putting it back together. Two months of dealing with nightmares that, thankfully, became fewer and farther between.
And finally reaching a point where instead of feeling fear or worthlessness, she felt a cleansing rage at what he’d done to her.
Ted had helped her get to that point, with a lot of support from Claire.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Fallon could stare at herself in the mirror and be at peace with the person staring back.
“You look very relaxed today,” Widener told her with a smile. “It’s nice to see.”
“I feel as if I’ve gotten a ton of concrete off my back,” she said. “Although digging through it hasn’t been so much fun.”
“I know. But Fallon? You’ve been able to look at parts of your past, see how they affected your present, and put them where they belong.”
She rubbed a finger along the arm of the chair. “I guess I never realized how emotionally stunted I was because of my family. I always admired them so much for what they’ve accomplished. My siblings as well as my parents.”
“And you felt inferior because they didn’t give your chosen career the proper respect.”
She nodded. “I understand now that they weren’t able to relate to anyone who wasn’t exactly like them. That their approval might always be based totally on complying with what they want me to be.”
“Which is, of course, why you chose poorly in your relationships. And made some bad decisions.” His gaze was thoughtful. “You do know you made a dangerous decision going back to Brian. If you hadn’t forced yourself to get out of there, the results would have been a lot worse.”
Fallon shifted in her chair, still uncomfortable with the memory. “I guess I just felt I didn’t have any other choice.” She tilted her head. “Are all your clients as fucked up as I am?”
He chuckled softly. “Trust me, you’re a novice compared to many.” The smile disappeared. “Seriously, though. You buried your feelings of inadequacy beneath the strong image you’d built, but they were still lurking there. When you allowed men to use you, you felt that somehow you deserved it.”
“Sad, isn’t it?” She chewed on her lower lip. “But that doesn’t explain how I became so addicted to Brian.”
Ted refilled her water glass from a pitcher on his desk, obviously gathering his thoughts before answering.
“Fallon, it’s important for you to understand that it wasn’t your fault you fell under his spell. Or that you stayed with him for as long as you did.”
“But—”
He held up his hand. “The man is a master manipulator who took advantage of those buried inadequacies. His reputation is well known. The feeling of being addicted can be attributed to his skillful manipulation. I like the fact that you’re finally feeling a sense of outrage at what was done to you. Bluntly put, you were mentally, physically and emotionally raped, and your anger is the greatest cleanser of all.”
She nodded. “You have no idea how often I’ve had that thought. I’m so thankful I managed to survive that night. That I found the strength to escape from his house. And him.”
“Because you were able to see, finally, the difference between what he took and what Cord offered. And to know what you wanted—to save yourself.”
She gave an unsteady little laugh. “It took me long enough to get to that point.”
“There a
re some things you always need to keep in mind,” he said. “Brian introduced you to a level of sexual satisfaction you’d never experienced before. But he isn’t a real Dom, just a real bastard who learned early in life how to control people. For some, it’s money, for others, it’s physical pleasure. I’d say he tapped into your deep emotional insecurities, something none of your other Doms had done. He was sharp enough to find them. And cruel enough to exploit them.”
“I always thought my relationships were so great, long term or short.”
“My guess is, just from talking to you, every other man you’ve been with has been more a friend with benefits than a lover. When you talk about Cord, everything is completely different—your tone of voice, your attitude, even your body language.”
Her face sobered. “Cord. Lord, I’ve put him through ten pounds of shit.”
“The man can handle it. Trust me.”
“I’ve always liked the submission part,” she said slowly. “I feel as if it fills a part of me that was missing.”
Ted nodded. “A real relationship between a Dom and a sub is extremely fulfilling. There’s trust. There’s an acceptable power exchange. There’s a bonding. And a realization that the inherent need to serve is empowering rather than demeaning.”
“Which is what I found with Cord more than anyone else in my life,” she agreed. “It just felt… right.” She shook her head. “But not with Brian.”
“Because he perverted the situation for his own needs. But all of this should help you understand why you were ripe for someone like him. It’s not a flaw in you, as you kept trying to tell me.”
“I’m finally beginning to accept that. Though I’ve still been waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? And all Claire will say—or Jack Torres, for that matter—is, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s handled.’ I don’t even know what that means.” She leaned forward. “I know you’ve spoken with both of them. They’re as bad as surrogate parents hovering like shadows. Do you know what they’re talking about?”
